My name is Dee dee Ward. I'm an ugly, creepy, and sad person. I don't think I deserve anything I have.
It's 1 in the morning. I feel a sudden wave of inspiration to paint. I get up, and get my dads old easel from beside my dresser, and set it up. I grab a canvas, and set it up. I stand, thinking of what to paint. Let alone what to do.
Suddenly, I feel slimy cold hands slide onto my shoulders from behind me, and an echoing voice whispers in my ear.
''Silly girl, do you really think you can paint something?''
I don't answer.
''Silly girl, do you really think you're an artist?''
I don't answer.
''Truly pathetic.''
I try to focus on thinking, but It gets to me.
Why can't It just leave me alone?
I sigh and lay back down on my bed, putting my lap top back on my stretched out legs. I watch some YouTube and listen to music. I don't know why I bother. Maybe It's right. I don't know.
While I continue listening to music and doodling, It comes up besides me.
"That looks awful. I mean, what the fuck is that hand?"
I get frustrated and decide to just go to bed.
I put on a movie and set my bed up. I lay down and drift into a heavy, deep sleep.
BINABASA MO ANG
In my head
Non-Fiction*This is somewhat non-fiction and my self experiences.* Dee dee Ward is a teen who struggles with depression, an abusive relationship, and much more. She's a starving artist, and the odd one out.
